


Drifting, Falling (Floating Weightless)

by Settiai



Category: The Martian (2015)
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Multi, Nightmares, One Shot, Yuletide, Yuletide 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Settiai/pseuds/Settiai
Summary: Coming home.
Relationships: Chris Beck/Beth Johanssen/Mark Watney
Comments: 16
Kudos: 82
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Drifting, Falling (Floating Weightless)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [often_adamanta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/often_adamanta/gifts).



It was too quiet.

Mark was caught off guard the first time he realized exactly what it was that was about the _Hermes_ that was keeping him from sleeping. Those first few nights, he just thought it was his body reacting to... well, everything. It made sense. He hadn't exactly slept well those first few nights on Mars alone, so it wasn't unexpected that the same thing would happen when he left.

Except it didn't get better as the days passed and slowly shifted into weeks.

It took him longer than it should have to notice that he was instinctively listening for the wind whenever he went to bed. Back on Mars, it had been a constant companion and a neverending reminder that all it took was a moment for everything to change. Yeah, there had been sleepless nights when he had stayed up listening to it howl just outside the Hab, but there had been just as many where it had been the sound that had lulled him to sleep.

The _Hermes_ was all but silent compared to that.

Mark sighed as he stared up into the darkness of his bunk room. Well, that was just great. He was finally off Mars, with people around him and more than enough food to eat if Beck would ever let him off the strict diet he'd insisted on. So of course, that's when he'd develop insomnia. Not during his year-and-a-half of being alone and starving and pretty much convinced he was going to die a horrible death. But after he was rescued.

That figured.

*

Johanssen glanced at Mark as she stepped off of the treadmill. "Did Chris give you the okay to be in here?"

Mark snorted. "I'm not planning on doing any dead lifts or anything."

She made a show of looking around at the noticeable lack of barbells in the room. "You don't say," she said, her eyebrows going up. "So? Did he?"

"I'm just here to watch," Mark said, holding up his hands. "I come in peace. And boredom. Mostly boredom."

The skeptical look on her face didn't exactly fade, but it did shift to something more akin to understanding. "You know he's putting all those restrictions on you for your own good, right?" she asked gently. "That's his job."

Mark shrugged and walked over to the window, looking out at the stars that stretched out as far as he could see. He pointedly didn't look towards her. "I know," he said reluctantly. "That doesn't make me any less bored."

Johanssen laughed at that. "You haven't changed at all, have you?"

His smile faded a little at that, but luckily she couldn't see it. "No," he agreed, and the words tasted like ashes in his mouth. "No, I haven't. I'm still the same old me."

*

Mark wasn't necessarily trying to hide the fact that he wasn't sleeping well. He just wasn't advertising it. There was a difference between the two.

It's not like he had insomnia every night, just some of them. Eventually, he'd finally get to the point where he was exhausted enough to fall asleep without issue, at least until the nightmares woke him up. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't anything new either. They weren't the same dreams that he'd had on Mars, but they were similar enough that he knew how to deal with them.

He didn't need to bother any of the others for some bad dreams. Especially since the moment he did, he knew they'd go straight to Beck, and then Mark would have to deal with being poked and prodded yet again.

It was fine. He was used to handling things on his own.

It was easier than he'd expected to move quietly through the ship while most of the others were sleeping. It may have been over a year since he'd been on the _Hermes_ , but his body remembered how things worked in space even if his mind sometimes had to catch up.

Most of the others slept through the night shift without trouble. If they couldn't sleep, they'd go to the gym and work out until they were tired enough to try again. Nobody ever went to the kitchen or, if they did, they were in and out. The kitchen was too public a place to stay if you wanted to be alone with your thoughts, and everyone knew it.

It made it the perfect place to hide.

*

"You look like shit, man," Martinez said, plopping down in the chair beside Mark.

Even though everyone else was behind him, out of his line of sight, Mark could practically hear them all freeze in place at Martinez's comment. He knew without a doubt that they were waiting to see how things played out before anyone would join in. It had been almost two months since they'd left Mars, and sometimes it felt like they were all still walking on eggshells around him.

Mark rolled his eyes and took a larger bite than he probably should have of whatever nutrient and protein heavy monstrosity Beck was insisting he eat for breakfast today. "Have you looked in a mirror lately, Rick?" he asked. "I hate to break it to you, but you're not exactly winning any beauty pageants. And you can't even blame a bad vacation on Mars for your looks."

Martinez grinned, and the tension immediately drained from the room, but Mark couldn't help but notice that the smile didn't quite reach Martinez's eyes. He wasn't entirely sure what type of expression or emotion it was that he was seeing in them, but it definitely wasn't amusement. Worry, maybe? Confusion? A mixture of both?

"Yeah, yeah," Martinez said, taking a gulp from his drink. "Maybe we both should try to get some more beauty rest."

Mark flinched ever so slightly at the knowing look that Martinez was shooting him. Then he forced himself to shrug, keeping his voice as casual as possible. "Sorry to break it to you, but I don't think there are enough hours in the day for beauty sleep to help you, Martinez."

Martinez simply held up his cup and saluted Mark with it. While making sure his middle finger was very prominently displayed thanks to the way he was holding said cup.

*

Mark couldn't help but feel like he was missing something.

The crew's relationships had shifted and changed since the last time he'd been on the _Hermes_ , and sometimes it felt like he didn't quite fit in anymore. They'd spent a year-and-a-half without him, working out daily routines designed for five people instead of six, and now that he was back it was as if no one really knew where he fit in.

Especially since Beck kept insisting that he couldn't just jump back into his tasks from before Mars, not until he was ready. Not that the good doctor would actually tell Mark what the fuck "ready" actually meant.

But it wasn't just that.

There were references that he didn't get and vague comments that everyone seemed to understand except him. Not to mention a thousand and one little things that had changed without him being there to see it, each of them another reminder of just how long he'd been alone. Items kept in different places. Procedures changing slightly.

And apparently people sleeping in different bunk rooms than he remembered.

"Why exactly are you using Martinez's bunk room for storage?" Mark asked, trying and failing not to let his confusion show.

The commander glanced over at him. "There was an issue with the climate control," she said. "It wasn't something we could fix. He took Beck's room."

Mark stared at her. "Okay, that makes sense," he said slowly. "But if Martinez is in Beck's bunk room now, then where is Beck sleeping?"

The corners of the commander's mouth turned upwards in a smile, as if she was laughing at a joke that only she knew. "He's in Johanssen's room."

He almost asked where exactly Johanssen was sleeping if Beck was using her bunk room. The words were on the tip of his tongue. Then he actually thought about it for more than a second, and the final puzzle piece slipped into place. "Oh," he said. "I mean, _oh_. That's... new. That's new, right?"

"It's not all that new," Commander Lewis replied with a shrug.

Mark tried to hide his surprise, but he didn't quite think it worked. It was just another thing he had missed, he supposed.

*

"You're not gaining weight as quickly as I'd like," Beck said with a frown as he finished his examination. "Maybe I should up your calories again."

Mark sighed. "I'm eating and drinking as many of those horrifying concoctions as I can—"

"Most people would just refer to them as food," Beck muttered.

"—but I have my limits," Mark continued, as if Beck hadn't said anything. "Come on, have a heart. There's only so much that a person can endure."

Beck shot him a thoroughly unamused look, and Mark couldn't help but get the impression that he'd heard more than Mark had intended. "Are you actually eating everything that I told you to eat?"

"Yes, Mom," Mark said, rolling his eyes.

Beck sighed. "Mark—"

"Come on, Beck," Mark said, cutting him off. "You know I am. You literally spend almost every meal staring at me."

A sheepish look flickered across Beck's face. "You weren't supposed to notice that."

"Just because I look like the walking dead doesn't mean I'm blind," Mark shot back, his smile hopefully helping smooth out the harshness of his words.

For a second or two, Beck looked like he had something he wanted to say to that. Whatever it was, though, he apparently changed his mind as he simply sighed.

"Go ahead and put your shirt back on," Beck said. "Let me see if I can add a few more vitamins to your daily meals at least."

*

Vogel was the one who walked in on Mark sitting in the kitchen one sleepless night.

He probably should have expected it. Of all of them, Vogel was the one most likely to be awake and asleep at odd hours.

"You're up late," Vogel said, glancing over at the table where Mark was sitting as he started making his coffee. "Couldn't sleep?"

Mark shrugged. "Maybe I'm up early," he said. "Did you ever think of that?"

Vogel chuckled. "If you were up early, you'd be making one of these too," he said, gesturing at his mug.

"I wish," Mark said, a bit more longing than he'd intended in his voice. "Beck's a slavedriver. He still says I'm not allowed to have coffee."

One of Vogel's eyebrows went up. "And you're listening to him?"

Mark shrugged. "Hey, I might not be a genius like some of you people, but I'm not stupid enough to piss off the only doctor within a few million kilometers."

Vogel shot him a knowing look, but he didn't say anything. He just finished preparing his coffee and then headed for the door. "Get some sleep."

"Pot, kettle, black," Mark called back as he watched Vogel disappear out the doorway.

*

Mark woke up to Beck's face leaning over him.

"I think that I liked the nightmare better," Mark muttered, closing his eyes and attempting to hide his face in his pillow.

Above him, Beck let out a long-suffering sigh. Someone else giggled, and Mark was almost completely certain this it wasn't Beck that time.

With a sigh, he reluctantly cracked his eyes open again. Beck's face was still floating above him and, when he took a closer look, it looked like it was because he was kneeling beside Mark's bed. Johanssen was standing a bit behind him, a carefully neutral look on her face.

Mark groaned. "Vogel told you about finding me in the kitchen a few nights ago, didn't he?"

Beck didn't answer that question but, then again, he really didn't need to. Mark already knew what the answer was. With a sigh, Mark pushed himself up into a sitting position. He didn't particularly want to have this conversation, but he definitely didn't want to have it while he was lying in bed.

"Do you have nightmares like that a lot?" Johanssen asked.

Mark pulled his gaze away from Beck, focusing on her instead. He shrugged. "From time to time," he said. "They're not a nightly thing or anything like that."

"So it's something else that's been causing those black circles under your eyes?" Beck asked, drawing Mark's attention back towards him.

There was a long pause as Mark stared at Beck and was stared right back at in return.

Finally, Mark sighed. "Were they that obvious?" he asked with a grimace.

The fact that neither of them answered said a lot.

He sighed, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. It was damp from sweat and clinging to his forehead more than he'd expected. "What are the two of you doing in here anyway?" Mark asked. "Taking a late night stroll or something?" 

Beck's normally unflappable expression flickered, just a bit, and Mark was surprised to see a hint of color high on his cheeks as he flushed red. Johanssen, on the other hand, just smirked back at Mark. "Something like that," she agreed. "If you behave, maybe we'll tell you some details."

If anything, Beck's face grew even redder.

She slipped in beside Beck and knelt down as well. Then she reached out and all but pushed Mark back down against his bed.

He blinked but didn't fight back. "What are you—"

Mark cut off abruptly as Johanssen leaned in and pressed a kiss against his forehead, suddenly fighting the urge to flush as well even though he wasn't quite sure why. "Go to sleep, Mark," she said quietly. "We'll be here when you wake up."

Beck gave him a small nod. "I wouldn't try to argue with her," he said. "Beth doesn't like taking 'no' for an answer."

How was he supposed to argue with that? Mark closed his eyes and tried to pretend that the sound of their breathing in the dark was the wind.

*

"You only look half-dead today!" Martinez said, giving Mark a thumbs up. "Good job! That's three days in a row. Keep it up, and I might have to stop with the zombie jokes before we make it back to Earth."

Mark showed his love by holding up his middle finger in a time-honored showing of respect and appreciation.

"Behave, children!" Commander Lewis called over her shoulder as she walked out of the room, the remains of her own breakfast already cleaned up. "Don't make me separate you."

"Sorry, Mom!" Mark shouted back at her. Martinez snorted.

Shaking his head, Mark made his way to the counter that Vogel was standing in front of and stopped.

Vogel glanced at him, his eyebrows going up as he shot Mark an almost smug look. "Do you have something to say?"

Rolling his eyes, Mark reached past him to grab a bowl. "Nope," he said, "not a thing. Definitely not ‘thank you' or anything mushy like that."

Vogel snorted. "Of course not," he said. Then, after a short pause: "You do look better. Whatever Beck did, it's working."

It took everything Mark had not to let his face flush red at that comment. He could almost felt the phantom memory of lips pressed against his forehead. And his cheek. And his neck.

"Yep," Mark agreed, his tone carefully even. "It's definitely working."

*

The insomnia didn't stop. The nightmares didn't stop. Mark was pretty sure that they weren't going to stop, at least not anytime soon.

But they got better.

Some nights Beck or Johanssen would slip into his room in the night to check on him, making sure he was well aware that he wasn't alone until he either fell asleep or knew for certain that it was a lost cause. Some nights, when he wanted to be alone, he'd slip out and wander the _Hermes_ until one or both of them found him and led him back to his bunk room.

And some nights, well, if his wandering feet found their way to Johanssen's door and into an already crowded bed? Who was he to argue.

He wasn't exactly sure what it was that the three of them were falling into, what words to use to describe the shift that was taking place in their relationship. Maybe it didn't need words.

All that matter was Mark wasn't alone. That none of them were.

For the first time in a long time, the quiet didn't seem like such a bad thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter. (https://twitter.com/settiai)


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